Your Fears are Paper Tigers
by CoffeeWithConsequences
Summary: It had happened a dozen or more times by then. There was absolutely no excuse for Arthur to be surprised. But he was. Every time, he was. Eames didn't even put in any effort anymore, he just walked up, smirking, thumbs in his pockets. "Your place or mine, pet?" That was all it took. Every time was dirtier and more degrading than the last. After their second night, Eames had his nu


It had happened a dozen or more times by then. There was absolutely no excuse for Arthur to be surprised. But he was. Every time, he was. Eames didn't even put in any effort anymore, he just walked up, smirking, thumbs in his pockets. "Your place or mine, pet?" That was all it took.

Every time was dirtier and more degrading than the last. After their second night, Eames had his number, and he was never above using his intense powers of observation to learn just exactly where to push. He managed to be both precise and messy, exacting and exciting. He drove Arthur wild, he knew it, and he exploited it ruthlessly.

Mal, before she'd gone nuts and jumped off a building, had seen it would happen this way. She'd warned Arthur to avoid Eames. "He'll eat you alive, my love." She'd known Arthur the longest, and knew how far from immune he would be. Arthur, of course, ignored her warning. No matter how many times he made the same mistakes with men, he was doomed by his own stubbornness to repeat them.

"Eames, why is it that you always hit on me at the least convenient time?" Arthur grumbled, looking up from his laptop. "I'm busy."

Eames raised an eyebrow. "Just to prove I can, darling. Now let's get out of here."

Arthur sighed. There was no point in pretending he wasn't going. Anyway, nothing he was working on was so vital it couldn't wait. He flexed his stiff shoulders and let his mind flash briefly on how loose and pliant he would feel by the time Eames was finished with him.

Eames grinned, reading his mind, and laid one thick palm on the back of his neck. "Thought so," he murmured.

Eames didn't drive. Arthur had always found that odd, and found Eames' refusal to be embarrassed by it even odder. So they went to the hotel in Arthur's rental car. It was only about fifteen minutes away, but Arthur was panting and shaking by the time they arrived. And Eames did it only with his voice.

"I've been thinking," Eames began as they pulled out of the parking lot. "That I ought to tie you up. I ought to strip you off and tie you up, and then just play with you all night."

Arthur kept his eyes on the road and resolutely ignored the color coming to his cheeks. "That's what you think about while everybody else is working?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice steady. "That explains a lot."

Eames laughed. It was such a warm, friendly sound. Amazing to hear it come out of someone who could be so damn mean. "Being cheeky isn't going to get you there any faster," he remarked. "If you're not pleasant, Arthur, I'll play with you all night and not let you come. You know I can do it, darling. I can work you up and hold you there for as long as I like." He grinned over at Arthur, taking note of his forced, shallow breath. "Perhaps I'll do that, and then leave you there, tied up. Come in, tell Cobb I have no idea where you've got off to." He chuckled. "Or, I could tell him." Eames raised his voice to a mimicry. "I'm so sorry, Cobb. Arthur can't make it in today, I've tied him to my bed and he's not allowed to move. Maybe tomorrow, if he stops being such a rude bastard."

Arthur shook his head and took a corner faster than was strictly necessary. "There are things I won't allow, Mr. Eames."

Eames laughed again. "Are there? I'll be on the lookout for those, then."

It wasn't that Arthur hadn't ever enjoyed being dominated before-he was a pretty classic case of a control freak who got off on being out of control in sexual situations. He'd always been that way. He'd even been in a few more formalized subordination relationships, though they tended not to work as well as simply finding guys who could physically give him a run for his money and were willing to do so. It wasn't that he was interested in being anybody's slave, or anybody's baby-he just liked to be shown his place. It had embarrassed him as a younger man, but these days, he was pretty well OK with it.

With Eames, though, it was different. They'd never even discussed it-any of it. The first time they were together, Arthur was a bit drunk and very pliant, and he'd let Eames move him around and set the pace. The second time, Arthur wasn't drunk, and Eames was experimenting. After Eames learned Arthur would happily be told what to do, the game was on.

If he had to guess, Arthur didn't think Eames had any experience or interest in strict D/S relationships. In fact, it was possible he'd never done this before even in a casual sense. Eames' interest, so far as Arthur could tell, was in pushing Arthur's limits. As was the case in every aspect of his life, Eames wanted to find just how much he could get away with, and then push a bit past that. So here they were, remarkably well-matched.

When they finally got to the hotel, they kept a polite, professional distance through the lobby and in the elevator. This was part of the dance. Sometimes, Eames would paw Arthur shamelessly in public, knowing how uncomfortable it made him, and knowing he'd allow it anyway. Just as likely, though, was this equally infuriating casual coolness. Though he was nearly 100% certain what was coming once they were behind closed doors, the sudden shift to disinterest never failed to throw Arthur.

This time, Eames didn't shift right back once the door swung shut. He flipped the lock, but he didn't immediately corner Arthur. Instead, he walked casually toward the minibar, toeing his shoes off as he went. "Drink?" he asked, voice light. "You seem a bit tense."

Arthur wanted to shout. Once, he would have, demanding Eames give up whatever charade he was into and get it started. He knew better now, though. One of the most surprising things he'd learned since he and Eames had started this was just how patient Eames could be, and how very willing he was to make Arthur wait.

"Sure," Arthur said, keeping himself casual to match Eames. He sat down on the small sofa.

"Hungry?" Eames asked solicitously. "Haven't seen you eat much today."

"This isn't a fucking date, Eames," Arthur hissed, despite himself. As soon as he said it, he wished he could bite it back.

Eames grinned, happy to have gotten the rise so easily. "Indeed," he said. He handed Arthur a glass of scotch. "Tell me then, Arthur, why are you here? What is it you want?" He sat on the end of the bed and peered at Arthur curiously, as if he couldn't imagine what Arthur might say. "Since you seem to have such a clear idea of what we're doing here."

Goddammit. Arthur cursed himself for making this so easy. As Eames well knew, the humiliation of asking was, maybe not surprisingly, one of the hardest things for him. He'd do anything Eames said, so long as it was Eames' idea. But having to make requests for what he wanted was nearly impossible.

"I...I don't know." He grimaced as he stuttered. Five minutes with this fucking man and he was a scared kid again.

Eames grinned. "I think you do. That's alright. I can wait." He reached for the remote control and flicked the television on. "Do let me know when you've figured it out." Looking at the screen, he added, "oh, and take your clothes off."

Arthur felt the first wave of heat rush through him. The casualness with which Eames gave the order, knowing it would be obeyed, hit him in the chest. It was different than the cockiness Eames showed at every other available opportunity. That was a front, a way to distract. This was real power. Arthur knew he was the one giving it, that the orders Eames gave would fall completely flat if he weren't so willing to obey, but the power existed all the same. It stretched between them like something tensile, a tightened wire, easy to pluck. Arthur rose immediately and began to undress.

Eames completely ignored him. Didn't even glance his way as he stripped off his suit, folding the shirt and vest neatly, hanging the trousers and jacket across a chair. He removed his briefs and socks and undershirt, increasingly frustrated by Eames' attention to the television. It wasn't that Arthur didn't know it was a game-of course it was-but it was infuriating how well Eames played it.

Once he was naked, Arthur stood still and waited to be acknowledged. Eames continued to ignore him. The TV, Arthur noted, was playing a Japanese game show. Not exactly something in which Eames would normally be so absorbed.

Since he'd filled out post-puberty (well, as much as he was ever going to, anyway), Arthur had never been ashamed of his body. He knew he looked good, if pale and trim and wiry was your thing. Standing naked in front of a lover wasn't something he had any trouble doing. Still, it was uncomfortable to stand naked in the presence of someone who was clothed and appeared uninterested. The longer Arthur stood, the more he wanted to cover his groin with his hands, or wrap his arms protectively around his chest. He wouldn't, of course-that would be admitting defeat far too early. But the impulse was there.

Finally, Eames glanced his way. The glance was brief, just a flick of the eyes. "Have you figured it out yet?" he asked, voice bored. "Want to tell me why you're here?"

Arthur glared at him and remained silent.

"Arthur," Eames said a few minutes later, "you may want to consider how willing I am to wank off and go to sleep and just let you stand there. Not that your stubbornness isn't adorable, but it's not going to get you anywhere." He sounded patient and pedantic, as if he were explaining something obvious to a small child.

Arthur was so frustrated he nearly growled. He knew it wasn't a bluff. Once before, Eames had simply left the room when Arthur refused to do as he said. He hadn't come back for hours, and Arthur, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, had waited.

"Fine," Arthur finally spit. "I'm here because I want you to fuck me."

Eames look at him and chuckled. "That's the best you can do?" His eyes roamed over Arthur's body appreciatively. "You're going to have to be much more specific."

Arthur sighed. Now that Eames had the bit in his teeth, he wasn't likely to let this go. "OK," he said, forcing his voice to steadiness. "I want you turn off the fucking television. And then I want you to take your clothes off." After a moment, he added, "please."

Eames grinned and flipped the television off. Then he stood, his eyes on Arthur, and stripped.

No matter what they got up to, this was always one of Arthur's favorite parts. He knew it was shallow, or even crass, but he never stopped being amazed by Eames' body. It changed slightly over time-bigger or smaller, depending on what he was working on, new tattoo additions-but it was never anything less than spectacular. Eames knew; Arthur had rarely met anybody else so aware of and able to use their physical assets. He didn't need to put on any show to impress Arthur, and so he didn't. He simply let his clothes drop to the floor, first shirt, then trousers, then underwear.

Arthur didn't pretend not to look. He took Eames in as carefully as he always did, looking for new details. Eames was bulked up right now, he'd come off some job that required it, and still tanned from his last tropical hideout. He looked amazing. Arthur licked his lips. Eames followed the motion with this eyes and grinned.

"Now what?" Eames' voice was lower, as if both of them being nude meant the room were quieter.

"I want you…" Arthur trailed off. He wondered if "I want you to be in charge" would be enough.

Before he could try it out, Eames interrupted. "It's not so hard, is it?" he asked, stepping toward Arthur. "To tell me what you need?"

It was impossible to tell what angle he was playing. His eyes looked friendly, as if he really just wanted to be sure Arthur was getting what he wanted out of their exchange. Arthur knew better, but Eames was just good enough an actor to keep him unsure. "It is," Arthur managed. "You know I…" God, why couldn't he finished a sentence? Eames was very close now, nearly close enough to feel his breath.

"You find it difficult to ask," Eames said, nodding. "I know. But you have to do things you find difficult sometimes, don't you?" He smiled, and suddenly it was the shark smile, no friendliness, just challenge. "I'm not going to help you, Arthur. You have to be the one to get this ball rolling."

For a long moment, Arthur just breathed and stared at Eames, standing in front of him, beautiful and so fucking powerful. He knew he was blushing, he felt his humiliation not just at being asked to take charge, but at having such a very hard time doing it. All this did was underscore just how comfortable Arthur had become letting Eames lead.

"I want you to touch me," Arthur finally said, hoping that keeping things vague would be enough.

Eames reached out a hand and ran it down the side of Arthur's body so gently he could barely feel it. It was a distraction-almost an annoyance. Not at all the way Arthur liked to be touched. "I want to fucking feel it, Eames," he hissed.

Eames didn't pause, he just pushed the same hand into the middle of Arthur's chest so hard that he lost his balance and fell back onto the couch. Then he stood there and looked down at Arthur, grinning.

"Goddammit," Arthur ran a frustrated hand through his hair, not caring how much it would mess it up. Eames could be an absolutely infuriating prick. "Eames…"

Eames shook his head. "Now, now, pet. I'm not asking you to do much here. Just give a bit of instruction. How's a man to know what you want if you can't tell him?"

Arthur glared. "You do know. You always know."

Eames smirked and Arthur felt even stupider. It was pathetic enough how easily Eames could read him, he didn't have to point it out.

"I don't know why you're suddenly so fucking interested in what I want you to do," Arthur grumbled, trying to lighten the heavy air in the room. "Not like you've ever done what I said before."

"That was a mistake, my Arthur," Eames whispered as soon as Arthur finished talking. "I was going to give this up for a laugh, but now you've gone and irritated me." He took a step back. "Here's how is going to work. Either you tell me what you want, exactly and in detail, or I'm leaving and you can bloody well smack yourself around until you come."

Arthur closed his eyes. "I want you to touch me," he started again. Keeping his eyes closed and trying to ignore the way his cheeks burned and his voice cracked, he continued in a rush. "I want you to bite me and bruise me. I want you to make me suck you down until I choke, and I want you to come all over my face." He took a shaky breath. "I want you to fuck me open with your fingers. I want you to make it hurt, and then I want you fuck me on my hands and knees until I scream."

Arthur opened his eyes to see that Eames was hardening, wide-eyed, his chest moving with quicker breaths. "Do you want me to let you come?" he asked, clearly forcing himself to hold still as he said it.

"Only if I deserve it," Arthur said, surprised even as the words left his mouth. This was far more than he'd ever talked about any of these desires with Eames. Before, Eames had simply done what he needed. He'd rarely felt so vulnerable.

From there, the scene went from slow motion to fast forward. Eames was on top of him immediately, straddling Arthur's legs, pinning them with his own thighs, his hands against Arthur's shoulders, holding him against the back of the sofa. He kissed Arthur hard, biting his lips, plunging his tongue into Arthur's mouth in fast thrusts. Arthur tipped his head back, trying instinctively to get away from the sudden assault, but Eames was right there, holding him still.

Arthur got hard so fast it was dizzying, and was rocking up against Eames before he was even aware. Eames left his mouth, finally, and threw one arm across his throat to hold Arthur still while his thick lips moved down. He bit hard into Arthur's shoulder, sucking a bruise that would be tender for days, and then moved further and took each of Arthur's nipples between his teeth. He was gentler there, but far from kind, and Arthur hissed and bucked against him.

Once Eames started touching him, all of Arthur's previous indecision vanished. There were no thoughts beyond "Eames" and "yes" and "there" and "more." These he spoke aloud, babbling as Eames continued to paw at him and suck on his skin.

Arthur tried to hold his own, but Eames had his mobility pretty limited, and all he could really do was hang on, his hands sliding over the muscles of Eames' back. "Fuck, fuck, yes," he muttered, his whole world narrowing to just the spot where Eames' mouth met his skin. "Like that." He pushed his hips up thoughtlessly, looking for friction against his cock.

By the time Eames pulled away, Arthur was buzzing all over. Looking at Eames, swollen lipped and wide-eyed, made the feeling even more pronounced. For a moment, they both caught their breath. Then Eames stood up. Arthur made a disgruntled noise at the lack of contact. Eames shook his head. "Get on your knees." His earlier tone of pleasant concern was gone now-it was unmistakably an order. This was much more familiar ground.

Arthur slid to the floor and Eames took his place on the sofa, sitting forward with his legs spread. His cock jutted out in a way that would be comical were Arthur not already so fucking turned on. Arthur loved Eames' cock, at every stage, and was typically a bit sad not to have the opportunity to let it harden in his mouth, but he was too far gone to care about that now.

Arthur settled himself on his knees between Eames' legs, but Eames held a hand against his chest, keeping him from getting started. "Tell me what you're going to do," he instructed.

"I'm going to suck you down as far as I can," Arthur said, breathy, forgetting to be embarrassed. "I'm going to swallow around you, then pull back and lick up your shaft. I'm going to press your head between my lips the way you like, and then swallow again."

"And then what?" It was clearly getting more difficult for Eames to hold his control, and his hand against Arthur's chest wasn't totally steady.

"And then I'm going to make you come," Arthur answered. "And you're going to pull your cock out of my throat and cover my face." He breathed hard. "Get me dirty, Eames."

Eames let go of his chest, moving his hand to Arthur's shoulder and shoving him forward gracelessly. He groaned as soon as Arthur got his mouth around him. With another partner, Arthur may have used his hands, held the hips down so he didn't get more than he bargained for down his throat. With Eames, he laced his fingers behind his back and forced his jaw open as far as it would go, then looked up and met Eames' eyes as he ran his tongue along the crown of his cock. It was an obvious invitation, and Eames took it.

The blow job was messy and fast. Just as he'd promised, Arthur took as much of Eames as he could down his throat, swallowing around him until he had to pull off to breathe, then going right back to the task. He couldn't get much done with his tongue, as Eames thrust into his mouth quickly, breathing hard above him. "Jesus, look at you," Eames breathed, fisting his hands in Arthur's hair and pulling. "You love this. You're such a whore, Arthur. You could do this for money." He babbled on, something about Arthur being on a street corner and lining up johns around the block, but Arthur could barely hear over the rushing in his ears. He knew he was going to need to breathe again soon, but he felt Eames stuttering, and thought if he could hold out just a bit longer, he wouldn't need to be the one who pulled off.

Arthur's assessment was correct. Just before he was going to have to give up and breathe, Eames pulled him off by the hair with one hand and took his own cock in the other. "Fuck, fuck," he groaned, his orgasm rolling through him. His come painted Arthur's waiting face and neck, splashing across his lips and nose, then running down his cheekbone. Arthur stayed very still, eyes closed, until Eames' hand untangled from his hair and he heard Eames flop back on the couch.

Arthur's cock ached as he opened his eyes. He knew it would still be some time before he came  
(if he came). He liked that part, difficult as it was. It was like running a very long distance-when he was only a bit of the way in, he always felt like he'd never be able to make it.

"Look at you," Eames murmured, leaning forward and looking at Arthur's face. "All covered in my come." He ran a finger through the mess, then slipped it between Arthur's lips. Arthur sucked it, running his tongue around it to get every bit.

Eames pulled his finger back and grinned. "Now go over and wipe your face on your shirt," he instructed, motioning to where Arthur's neatly folded clothes waited on the chair.

This was another of Eames' favorite games. He loved to make Arthur ruin his clothes. At this point, Arthur knew better than to refuse. He moved to the chair, still on his knees, and picked up his undershirt. "Ahh, you know better than that," Eames chided. "Your real shirt, posh boy."

Arthur frowned, but picked up his shirt and wiped his face against the crisp cotton. Nothing the dry cleaner couldn't take care of.

"Now get on the bed," Eames ordered, waiting and watching as Arthur crawled across the floor and climbed up on the bed. "And spread out so I can see you." Eames was sprawled lazily across sofa now, clearly sated for the moment, but Arthur knew how fast he could rally for another round. His refractory period clearly had not yet caught up to being 40.

Arthur laid on his back on the bed, opening his legs wide. He wrapped a loose hand around his cock, but forced himself not to stroke. He closed his eyes and enjoyed feeling Eames looking at him. He felt good when Eames looked at him like that, like something desirable and important.

Eventually, Eames rose from the couch and went into the bathroom, coming back with lube and a condom in hand. "Push your knees up, love," he instructed, climbing up the end of the bed and settling between Arthur's legs.

Eames slicked two fingers, but didn't begin. "I want you to tell me what you want," he said

"Eames," Arthur whined. "You know what I fucking want." He thought they were done with that.

"Yes," Eames agreed. "But what I fucking want is to hear you say it."

Arthur couldn't really argue with that. Eames made it clear early on that he was interested in this for exactly as long as it didn't bore him, and Arthur was willing to go pretty far out of his way to make certain that didn't happen. "OK," he said, sighing. "Do you...do you want to start?"

Eames grinned. "Ready when you are." He waggled his slicked fingers in the air to prove his point.

Arthur exhaled and tried to ignore his hot face. "Start with one," he instructed, closing his eyes. "On the outside, first."

Eames did as he was told, running the tip of one slick finger around Arthur's rim, not pushing in, just skirting the edges. Arthur breathed, focused on the feeling. "There, pet?" Eames asked.

"Yes," Arthur said, stilling his hips as he tried to chase Eames' finger. "But I don't want you to stay gentle for very long, Eames."

Eames laughed. "You never do."

"Push inside now." Arthur's voice was breathy.

Eames pushed one slick finger in all the way, startling a noise from Arthur. Once it was there, he held it still, waiting for further instruction.

"Move it," Arthur groaned. "Come on, Eames. Please?"

Arthur's eyes were closed, but he thought he heard Eames grin as he started to twist the digit. "I like it when you say please. Say it again."

"Please," Arthur breathed. "Please, use another finger. Please, make me feel it. Please, don't make me ask you for every step." He stopped trying to hold his hips still and let his body move toward Eames. "Please fuck me on your hand until you're ready to use your cock."

"OK," Eames said quietly. "Shut up now. I'll take it from here."

Eames' tentative, near-teasing motions were replaced quickly, one finger turning to two, and then to three, and all of them scissoring and twisting. Arthur raised his hips off the bed and Eames used his free hand to force him down, holding his palm against the flat of Arthur's belly as he pushed his fingers in further. "Hold still," he ordered. "Or I'll stop."

Arthur concentrated on holding his body in place, feeling every quirk of Eames' hand. He knew Eames was avoiding his prostate on purpose, just trying to make him ask for it. He bit his lips. Perhaps there would be this one thing tonight that he wouldn't have to ask for. As Eames pushed harder, though, he skirted closer, and Arthur couldn't keep from focusing on it. Just a bit over, he thought, hoping that Eames would do it by accident.

He didn't. He kept a ruthless pace, and Arthur was wet and open and ready, but his fingers never even grazed that spot. When Arthur opened his eyes, coiled up and furious inside, he was met with Eames looking down at him and grinning, clearly enjoying himself.

"You are an absolute bastard," Arthur gritted out.

"Why's that?" Eames asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You're doing it in purpose!" Arthur yelled. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew his voice was too loud for thin hotel walls, but he couldn't bring himself to care. "Goddamn you."

"Doing what, love?" Eames smiled wickedly, not trying to hide that he knew exactly what Arthur meant.

"Not touching the right spot!" Arthur yelled again.

Eames laughed. Big and open-mouthed. "Oh, darling, if you could see yourself," he said. Before Arthur could respond, he bent his fingers and twisted his wrist.

He would never admit it, but Eames really did make Arthur see stars. "FUCK!" he yelled, slamming his head back against the pillow. Once Eames started, he was ruthless, hitting the same spot over and over. "Don't fucking come," Eames ordered, moving his other hand to grip Arthur's cock tightly at the base.

Arthur groaned, the hand on his cock painful more than pleasurable, and the whole fucking thing just too much. He thought he might have to ask Eames to stop, but he didn't. He rode through it instead, thoughts turning to just sensations. Eames changed his rhythm, backing off just enough to keep Arthur from totally spinning out, but kept fucking Arthur hard with his fingers, wringing gasping cries out of him, until his whole body was shaking with the strain of it.

Finally, Eames slowed down, unquirking his fingers, then slowing his pace, and then pulling them out completely. Arthur hadn't realized his eyes were closed until he opened them and stared into Eames' face. Eames was flushed, sweat around his hairline, but more or less together. Arthur knew he must be a mess-his limbs were liquified, his whole body heaving.

"You need a break?" Eames asked, watching his face.

Much as he didn't want to, Arthur nodded. He knew he'd be getting on his hands and knees now, and there was no way he could hold himself up yet. He was barely aware of the boundaries of his flesh, not sure where each limb began and ended. Plus he was so hard there was no way there was any blood left anywhere else.

Eames got up and crossed to the mini-bar, opening a bottle of water and bringing it back, then propping Arthur's head up against the pillow and forcing him to drink. This side of things wasn't Eames' foray, exactly, but Arthur appreciated both the effort and the water.

After a few minutes, Arthur had returned to his body enough to continue-and God, did he want to come. "OK," he said. "I'm good."

"Good for what?" Eames asked, shark smile back in place.

There was no point going round and round again. Eames had made himself clear. "Ready for you to fuck me," he said. "Ready to get on my hands and knees for you and beg."

The next smile Eames shot him was real, and maybe a bit surprised. "Alright, then," he said. "Get up there."

Arthur took only a moment to arrange himself before Eames was behind him, sliding on the condom. Eames forced his legs open wider, then held him apart. Arthur knew he was being examined, but he wasn't embarrassed. He shivered with anticipation and waited. Eames ran his thumb around Arthur's hole, then, apparently satisfied, lined himself up and pushed in with one long slide.

He didn't ramp up. Arthur had no idea whether that was for his benefit, or whether Eames was just tired of waiting, but he fucked into Arthur hard and fast, with no mercy, right from the start. Even though Arthur was ready, it hurt, and he made no attempt not to cry out. Eames knew his sounds, though, and knew not to stop when he heard these ones. Instead, he grabbed Arthur's hips hard, pulling him back to impale him on his cock, then shoving him forward as he pulled it nearly all the way out. Arthur couldn't hold himself on his hands, so he let his face drop into the pillow and arched his back, letting his body go loose. Jesus, this was what he'd wanted-no control of his own, just letting Eames move him across the bed, slam him against the headboard, force him further and further open. He knew was making noise, keening and babbling and maybe even crying, but none of it mattered. He couldn't feel anything but Eames.

Eames waited until he was nearly finished to reach around and wrap his hand around Arthur's cock. He knew from experience how fast Arthur would go off at this point, and he liked it when they came together. He was only off by a few seconds, Arthur yelling and spurting over his fist and the comforter, and Eames starting before he'd even wrung the last drops out of Arthur. By the time he was rocking into Arthur, riding the aftershocks, it was like fucking a rag doll, no tension anywhere.

Smiling, Eames finally pulled out, using his free hand to follow Arthur's hips down to the bed, settling him there. He went to the bathroom, cleaned up, and came back with a warm, wet cloth. Arthur hadn't turned over, he was still lying boneless in a pool of his own come.

"I should take a picture," Eames murmured, running the cloth between the cheeks of Arthur's ass, then rolling him over to take care of the mess on his stomach. "Nobody would believe you like this."

It was a testament to just how out of it Arthur was that he responded not with a threat of imminent bodily harm, but a laugh. "They'd think you drugged me," he said. Then, cracking an eye open, "did you?"

Eames laughed. "Haven't needed to." He settled back on the bed.

As Arthur came back around, he noticed Eames' fingers tapping against the bedspread. He reached out and covered Eames' hand with his own. "Itching for a smoke?" he asked.

Eames exhaled. "Yes. Bloody goddamn disgusting habit."

Arthur nodded, sympathetic. He'd quit years ago, and he remembered exactly how awful it was. He knew he wasn't invited to stay-that wasn't their thing-but he didn't want to force himself up quite yet. He wanted to ask questions, though. He wanted to ask why Eames had decided that tonight he needed to talk. He wanted to ask what Eames did in between jobs. He wanted to ask when Eames had acquired his newest tattoo and why. He wanted to ask just what the fuck they were even doing. And once he started wanting to ask questions, it was time to go.

Eames stayed where he was on the bed, watching Arthur get dressed. When Arthur wrinkled his nose at his shirt and shoved it in his shoulder bag, Eames laughed. "I don't know why you make me do that," Arthur grumbled.

Suddenly, Eames was up, his hand gripping Arthur's wrist hard. "I don't make you do shit," he said. "You're here because you want to be here."

Arthur was shocked by the sudden change in mood. "Of course I am," he said, wrenching his wrist free. "Jesus, Eames."

Eames glared at him. How could he actually look intimidating while stark naked? "You don't get to tell yourself this is for me anymore," he said. "I'm done with that."

It all clicked into place. Eames' insistence that Arthur ask for what he want wasn't just some new game, it actually had a purpose. Arthur took a deep breath. "Yeah," he said. "OK." He met Eames' gaze. "I know."

Eames looked skeptical, but finally nodded. After an indecisive moment, he leaned forward and kissed Arthur's mouth. The kiss was quick, chaste. For the first time all night, he looked unsure.

It was definitely time to leave. The things that were in the air now were too much like emotions, too much like caring. Neither of them needed that. "I'll see you tomorrow," Arthur said, moving toward the door.

"Yeah," Eames replied, flopping back down on the bed. "Try to walk straight." He shot Arthur a filthy grin as the door swung shut.


End file.
